


Fulfilling His Promise

by oly_chic



Series: Lost Guardian of Kaon [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Developing Relationship, Doorwings, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Earth Transformers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 22:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17333366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: Jazz lost his purpose long ago when his doorwings put him on the wrong side of Kaon's history. Now his lost purpose might be the key to his mission and the safeguarding of the one his spark needs to protect.





	Fulfilling His Promise

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Transformers.
> 
> Thanks to dragonofdispair for beta reading, and wicked3659 for a second read!
> 
> This could be darker, but for a fluff-centric fic I didn't want to lay the angst on too thick. Still dark in some spots.

Two orns from now his tires would touch the edges of Shockwave's territory, and Jazz was worried. It shouldn't be a big deal to the experienced spy, and an orn ago it hadn’t been. After hiding his doorwings once more behind his battle-damaged plating, and taking the injured Prowl back to Medbay for some repairs, Jazz tried reflecting on their night together. Instead of reminiscing about the positive things, like recharging next to Prowl's warmth, his mind was latched onto the one troubling part: Prowl had spotted signs of hidden doorwings. He worked hard to pass as a standard Iacon frame, though his frame was a little on the slim side for an Iaconian.

Prowl promised they would further reduce his chances of being caught from their already extremely low odds, but Jazz remembered the orns where "unlikely" meant no harm would come to the guarding Kaon Winged Sentries. He remembered the orn that stopped being true. Jazz's pace quickened; he needed to get somewhere private for the oncoming flashback.

His shared quarters were still empty when he arrived, but he knew they wouldn't be empty for long. Jazz flopped onto his berth and rolled over, pretending he was recharging. In reality, his mind wasn't quiet enough for sleep.

_"Do as you please," Jazz overheard one of the gladiators say on a commlink. At first Jazz hadn’t listened out of politeness, but now he was curious. Five stories up, he stood in the dark on an elevated platform above the gladiator. It was likely the other mech had no idea he was even there. Sentries were treated almost like statues, something most encouraged when they were on duty, moving only their doorwings unless responding to a threat._

_The disembodied voice had a harsh edge, as if biting back anger. "Then you'll see us soon. Watch the streets."_

_Why watch the streets? Jazz's optics followed the gladiator as he approached an open area, overlooking the roads. Jazz tilted his doorwings so he was fully in-tune with the street. Oddly there was no traffic. Until… He heard marching, and cries. Jazz stiffened; his doorwings identified the criers as Sentries. What was happening?_

_A parade of Decepticons marched up the street to where Jazz could see them, dragging along imprisoned Sentries. They were thrown onto their knees in the middle of the street. Decepticons loomed over them and stepped on their backs, pinning them down, doorwings forcefully flared out._

_A single Decepticon stepped out of the mass to speak. "Here me, Kaonites. For too long you've been spied upon by these hidden enemies. They know your secrets; they tell them to those who keep you down. These are tools your masters use to keep you scrounging for even basic necessities."_

_That wasn't true. Jazz didn't know a single Sentry who gave away any secrets they learned during their safety sweeps. They were focused on protecting, not harming._

_The speaker continued, spewing lies of the horrors inflicted on average citizens by Sentries. Jazz wanted to yell back, to call him out and defend his kind. The situation, the other Sentries in chains, was telling him to stay hidden in the shadows, well above the angry masses._

_"Hear me, all you Sentries. You will no longer steal our secrets, no longer suppress us." He ended and the other Decepticons brutally severed the midpoint hinges on the captured Sentries' doorwings. That was only the start…_

"Hey Jazz - oh," someone started to greet him. Jazz’s shifted his attention. His thoughts were hazy as he tried to identify the source as foe or friend. His concentration was broken, but he couldn’t move to look at the intruder, or else he’d give away the fact that he wasn’t asleep. The here-and-now finished reasserting itself, and he remembered that the voice belonged to his roommate, Quick Stuff.

Jazz listened to the yellow mech fumble with whatever he had brought with him. He was curious, but Jazz held his position. The images were fading, but the feeling of rushing coolant stayed. His system pumps were pounding hard, and his extremities felt cold. He swore he felt his coolant beading on his plating, but a discreet test by running his finger over the armor on his arm revealed the sensation was fake. Perhaps a real recharge would quell his mind and stop the chill.

Recharge didn't come to him before he received a call from a medic. Prowl would soon be released. There were no medical details of course, other than that Prowl may need assistance leaving Medbay.

When Jazz arrived Prowl was awake and practicing walking. His doorwing tip had been fully replaced; the bare metal was a stark contrast to his vibrant paint. Jazz looked him over for signs of the last battle, but the medics had cleaned him up well. Later, when Prowl no longer needed his help, Jazz needed to take a trip to medical for the same treatment.

"Hey ya, Prowl. Need help?" Jazz secretly wanted him to say yes, but he also knew Prowl well enough to know that it wasn't necessary.

"I should be alright. I don't have any feedback loop or balancing issues, and my leg is holding fine without support."

Jazz smiled, honestly happy. "That's great to hear. They have you on light duty?"

Prowl's expression soured, and Jazz saw the subtle hint of a pout on his lips. "Yes. I can still work on updating your mission. I'd like to work with you on it now."

"I don't know, you should relax." Jazz wanted to work with Prowl, but not at the risk of his well being. His friend could probably use more recharge.

"I will relax once we've addressed the mission," Prowl promised. His optics sharpened, telling Jazz that he wouldn't accept anything else.

Jazz smiled. Prowl's insistence he go beyond his duties for Jazz's sake was adorable, especially in a base full of jaded Autobots. Jazz wanted to protect Prowl from becoming equally jaded, a risk inherent in the war’s ruthless tactics, culminating in such tragedies as the destruction of Praxus. That didn’t stop him from doing what he could. "To your office, then."

At first they walked slowly, until Prowl's tentative steps became steadier. Jazz was proud of him for holding his own, although he wouldn't mind. He wanted to help.

Inside the office, Jazz watched Prowl's every motion as they took their seats. Prowl sat down with deliberate movements, turning to his terminal. There were no notable signs of Prowl struggling with his injuries, and Jazz hoped curing his physical sensory deprivation had also helped him with the emotional pain. He’d still watch for any signs of continued trouble, but so far Prowl seemed fine. "I need to know more about the specifics of your frame type to see what should be modified."

Jazz pressed his lips together. "I'm not sure how you can adjust for my frame type since the only thing not accounted for is my doorwings. I'm not about to release them in Decepticon territory."

"Your reaction to the sonic attack indicated your doorwing sensors work even while hidden," Prowl pointed out. He folded his hands in front of him.

"Under attack while tucked away doesn't mean useful," Jazz countered. He frowned and wondered if he was foolish to entertain the idea. Prowl may have promised improved results, but if Prowl’s plan centered on his doorwings, then Jazz might forcefully change the conversation.

Prowl’s jaw moved for a klik while his face maintained an otherwise neutral look. When he spoke again there was a slight edge to his voice - one he usually reserved for expressing concerns about his plans being haphazardly discarded. “Under attack doesn’t mean they _aren’t_ useful, either; it means they are not being correctly used. If you’ll work with me, I’m sure I can find a way to properly use them without forcing you to release them.” Prowl softened his voice. “Please provide me your specs and allow me to help."

Jazz was unsure. Prowl was clearly trying to help and sounded like he was taking it personally if he couldn’t help more than he had already in their planning last session. It might have been sweet in some strange way, if it hadn’t been a topic Jazz was already so resistant to. Maybe it was the flashback getting to him.

Jazz shrugged, caught between ending the conversation and giving the ingenuitive tactician a chance. Finally, he came to a conclusion. "Fine, hand me a datapad."

After taking a moment to read through the specs, the junior tactician cycled his optics. "These are quite impressive," he murmured.

"My frame was meant for all kinds of applications. Had to have the best specs around for things like receiving incoming communications, sensing the vibrations that indicated an impending mine collapse, and whatnot."

"What kinds of roles did you fulfill?"

Jazz cast his optics downward, hidden behind his visor, and he leaned back. "Just this and that, odd ends." It was a lie but he wasn't ready to talk about his life before the war. There was a reason why he faked being from Iacon.

“What’s it like, having doorwings with functions this powerful?”

“Umm…” He thought about how to explain it to a Praxian. “It’s like shadows don’t exist. Air currents are visible, too, I guess you could say. I can sense bodies based on the way air and frequencies, such as sound, move. Then there’s communication frequencies, which are like someone talking in your audial. You can tune it out if you really want to, although you still sense it no matter how much you try. Vibrations are a constant sensation as well, but more like someone tapping your hand.”

“Fascinating. I can sense a few things myself, but not in such detail. It’s a wonder your frame didn’t get more notoriety. And your systems are not completely passive, either. Active manipulation capabilities of wavelengths is not something I have.”

It took Jazz a klik longer than it should have, given that the subject was about _his_ frame, but he realized what Prowl was talking about. “Oh yeah, that. I used it like once, maybe twice.”

Prowl almost kept talking, but stopped. Jazz knew there were more important points to discuss and Prowl must have realized it too, when he switched back to planning. "Please allow me a few kliks to upload this to my tac-net so it can amend our plans."

"Sure, do what you got to do." Jazz felt a restlessness oncoming. This whole conversation was more bothersome than he’d anticipated when he initially agreed to it. The memory of the first attack on his kind hadn’t left him with any sense of peace. He absently kicked his leg back and forth. He needed to think about something else, something pleasant.

His thoughts returned to Prowl, thinking about last night. He remembered how soft Prowl's hands were to the touch, even when squeezing his firmly. His hands were still smooth and not rebuilt with cheap, readily available metals. Brutality had not sacrificed them to war yet.

Prowl's distant optics flickered as he returned his attention to his comrade. "There's one option to modify the plans for your frame type."

"Lay it on me."

"You have small plating sections that can move independently and unblock the tips of your doorwings, allowing them to remain in their stored position, but be useful. It will give them the opportunity to sense vibrations or communication frequencies of incoming Decepticons."

Jazz shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't known what to expect. "I guess I could do that," he said slowly. “My senses are most alive if I use my full doorwings, but the tips might be enough.”

Prowl looked at Jazz's folded hands in his lap. "I'm sure it's new to use your capabilities since you joined the Autobots, but I do believe in this tactic. I would not ask you to do something you're uncomfortable with, if it wasn't to enhance your safety."

"Right, I know you wouldn't. I promise to give it a shot." Jazz would honestly try. The mission was relatively easy after all of Prowl's thoughtful planning, matched with Jazz's cunning. If there was a time to try, it would be this mission.

"So..." Prowl ex-vented slowly. "You leave tonight."

"Yeah, I do." Jazz flashed a big grin. "Want to wish me well?"

"I wish you well."

Jazz chuckled. "I meant do you want to hang out before I leave?"

"What about the rest of your friends?"

"I'll hang out with them before. What do you say; meet at 18:00 joors in the Rec Room?"

"I will be there." Prowl gave him a rare smile and Jazz's spark fluttered.

 

|||||

 

Knowing how Prowl felt about being alone in the recroom, after visiting with his friends, Jazz tried to get his trip to the medbay to get his armor fixed over with quickly. The medics took a lot longer than he liked, and when he arrived, he saw an uncomfortable looking Prowl standing in the corner, the tip of his doorwing now painted. No one was talking to him. Jazz never knew how to feel about that. Prowl was not one to seek out company, but also Jazz also knew that meant Prowl had no company when Jazz was gone.

"Hey, Prowl," Jazz called out and waved at the mech, drawing Prowl's attention from halfway across the room.

"Jazz, you're looking much better," Prowl answered once they were close. He looked around. "It's awfully busy in here."

"There's going to be a movie. I thought we'd watch it from one of the tables." Jazz hadn't originally been interested in the movie, but it was an outing for them. Their quarters were unlikely to be empty.

Prowl frowned. "There are no tables left."

Jazz wanted the one in the corner, the one with a bench seat. "Give me a klik. Stay here."

He walked over to the desired table, a semi-private one where Blaster and a few others sat. "What's up, my mechs? Care to let me and a friend take this table?"

Blaster hummed. "For you? I guess. You owe us, though."

"Sure, Blaster. I'll get you and your friends something nice during my travels."

Jazz waved Prowl over as soon as the others had vacated. After sitting, Jazz leaned over and nudged Prowl. "Sit closer. It'll be hard to talk during the movie if you're all the way over there."

The black-and-white mech scooted over until his arm was brushing Jazz's arm. "Is this close enough?"

Jazz wanted closer, but he wouldn't press Prowl past his comfort zone. "That's good, I think. If it's not, I'll let you know."

The movie itself was not exciting; it was a mission-oriented action film from before the war. Jazz had seen enough action to know it was unrealistic. He focused on Prowl. They kept their conversation light, but Jazz didn't want to leave things like that. After their night together, it didn't seem fitting to have words alone be their farewell.

Jazz snuggled in closer to Prowl. "I'm a little tired. Do you mind if I rest here?"

Jazz could feel Prowl's plating heating up and he suppressed a hopeful smile. The first time he'd noticed Prowl’s plating becoming warm was last night, and since then he had hoped it was for similar reasons as why Jazz’s plating had warmed the first time they had touched. Unless Prowl had something against snuggling, Jazz was reasonably confident he wasn’t misinterpreting.

Prowl spoke steadily, "Of course you may."

"Thanks." Jazz let his frame relax. He didn't push any further, choosing to appreciate that Prowl’s Praxian metal was slightly more malleable than his Kaon plating. Prowl was soft.

He enjoyed the sensation of touching Prowl until the movie ended and the lights turned fully back on. Jazz groaned at the sudden light flooding his optics, the visor helping somewhat. He felt Prowl stir, so he sat up too.

Jazz checked the time and sighed. "Guess it's time for me to go."

Prowl moved first; Jazz followed. He wanted to hug his friend goodbye, but he refrained from public display of affection. "Be seeing you. Don't work yourself too hard, or I'll have my work cut out for me when I get back."

He waited in the briefing room at a large table for nearly five boring breems before one of his superiors finally entered. Starblaster, a beige-colored former-spy, sat down with a datapad. "Jazz, there's been a change in your mission."

"Really? How new are we talking?" Jazz feared Prowl's careful planning would be all for nothing.

"The agent we expected to work with you is not coming. We learned about the agent’s situation less than a joor ago. I was hoping the communications report was wrong, but we confirmed it fifteen breems ago. That's why I was late. I wanted to be certain about that communications report, and make sure our backup plan for a new partner made sense."

Jazz was not enthused about the news. "Who's my new partner?"

"He's almost here. Since I'm not going to brief you twice, we'll wait."

Of all the mechs that could've walked into the room, Jazz wasn't expecting Prowl. The tactician's optics darted between the two officers, and Jazz suspected Prowl was wondering why he was there.

When Prowl settled in the chair next to Jazz, Starblaster began. "As both of you are aware, this is a mission to gather intel from a Neutral who wants to meet in Shockwave's territory, to show us something he’s unwilling to disclose before the meeting. Normally getting intel is an agent's job, especially in a dangerous area. As you’re also aware, this Neutral is Praxian, and Praxian Neutrals rarely talk to non-Praxians."

Jazz's questions were still not answered. His original partner was an agent and a Praxian. What happened to him?

His superior continued speaking. "The Praxian agent that we did have coming to work with Jazz was just shot during an ambush a joor ago, and he’s in critical condition. There are no Praxian backup agents close enough to make it here before the Neutral moves on. Prowl," Starblaster focused specifically on the junior tactician, "as the only nearby Praxian cleared to handle classified intel, you are now assigned get the critical information the Neutral claims to have."

Jazz didn't like the weight they were putting on a mech who'd never run a mission before, but he knew he didn't have the rank to argue. That didn’t stop Jazz from trying. “Prowl’s on light-duty.”

“‘Light-duty’ is a term for reducing strenuous, non-combat duties. If he was truly incapable of doing key duties, then he’d have already been moved off-base and replaced with an able-body.”

“This isn’t a key duty to a tactician.”

“Jazz,” his superior replied with a warning tone. “This is a key duty to this base.”

He wasn’t happy to be shut down, but he’d already overstepped; he didn’t want to be reassigned. Jazz asked, "I’m still running point on this mission?"

"Of course. I wouldn't ask someone with no field experience to do more than follow one of my agents. He is there for one task."

"I can do it," Prowl promised.

Jazz silently pledged Prowl would be safe, no matter the cost to himself.

 

|||||

 

His tires and shocks were not happy with the poor quality of the back roads to Shockwave's territory. It was a well-controlled area for the mad scientist. The Decepticons could easily patrol the main roads, leaving what once were back roads as the only real option. The roads were often in pieces, but there were drivable areas.

Jazz watched for other signs of localized surveillance, like cameras. His experience with Shockwave’s territory taught him out to avoid traps in the roads and other spots. The biggest risk was the rest of surveillance, such as air support and satellites. Only the occasional set of Seekers passed near them during the night, and Jazz wasn’t yet too concerned with the satellites so long as he stayed barely within Shockwave’s territory. The satellites focused on key areas, and so he was outside of identified risk areas. They were slightly safe for the klik.

He and Prowl came across the first gully as daylight broke. On the other side of the ravine, a grimy wall rose high above them. It would have been impossible to climb if he didn't have his grappling hook. Jazz freed his arm by transforming to root mode, and fired. The line was nearly fully stretched out when it caught an edge.

"Can you hold onto me?" Jazz asked Prowl. "I can retract the line with two 'bots suspended, but I don't want you slipping off." Prowl nodded and touched Jazz's shoulders, his grip feather-light. Jazz gave Prowl a crooked smile. "You're going to have to hold on tighter than that."

"Of course." Prowl's grip tightened.

"Now make sure you press yourself tight around my frame. Don't be afraid to use your legs."

Prowl did as instructed, even wrapping his legs around Jazz's thighs. His helm rested on Jazz's back.

Jazz retracted the line so it pulled them up. The saboteur scrambled over the crumbling edge, realizing how close his grappling hook had come to slipping its tenuous hold. Prowl silently climbed off of Jazz's back, as Jazz contemplated the risk they had nearly faced. Jazz glanced over to his companion and swore he saw some energon-flushed cheeks, but he didn't want to draw attention to it, for Prowl's sake.

They kept going, driving where they could and climbing where they couldn't. Each time Jazz thought he saw a pinkish hue to Prowl's cheeks, although it was less and less noticeable each time. For a klik he wondered what it meant, but he wasted no more thoughts on the subject. It would keep for another time, when they were back at base.

Distant sounds of gravel being crushed immediately grabbed his attention during one of their climbs of a broken bridge pointing to the sky. The particular back road segment put the main road within sight at their height, even though Jazz was sure they themselves weren’t visible because of the old buildings between them and the road. Reasonably sure.

While his audials were a little superior to the average mech, they only gave him some advance warning. He needed more.

"Prowl, try to not move. I need to let my doorwing tips sense the area." Cautiously, he moved the necessary plating. His senses came alive and everything was suddenly clear in a way he hadn’t realized he missed. He was almost swept away by the information pouring into his processor, using systems that had been dormant for a long time. Information such as the parts of the power grid in the old buildings that actually still functioned. It was a small wonder his sensors were working so efficiently, and telling him everything he needed to know, after going so long unused.

Despite the sudden clarity and data, Jazz’s earlier guess was right: his senses were not as strong as he remembered from when he’d left them fully extended. Still, he could tell that that eight Decepticons were driving on the main road, two were tanks, they were approaching the blind corner, and they were armed with explosives. He could also see around the old buildings better and realized there was a large gap between two. It was large enough that the Decepticons would see him at the right angle.

Jazz assessed the situation, used to doing it on his own. They couldn't climb higher or they'd surely be caught. Neither could they retrace their steps for the same reason. Staying suspended with the weight of two mechs over an undetermined amount of time wasn't an option; the ledges Jazz used were not sturdy enough to count on that. There was no proof this ledge didn’t have the same weakened structure, wind-battered and scorched. The edge was too high to confirm its state. "We need to go down. Like all the way down."

"Why?" Prowl asked.

Jazz reversed his line to release rather than retract. "We might be at risk for being spotted by incoming Decepticons.”

Prowl fluttered his doorwings. “I see. There’s something making noises.”

“Yeah, eight Decepticons.”

His line ran out while they were still in the air, but down far enough that he thought they could jump. The area was in complete shadows, but the air currents suggested the floor was close. "Prowl, I need you to jump off and then move out of the way.”

Prowl jumped, and Jazz waited until he heard Prowl move to release his grappling hook. The fall was not far, although the 'thud' from landing hurt a little. Disturbed dust clung to his legs, the air thick with it.

"What do you know?" Prowl asked.

"A Decepticon patrol unit is coming. There’s eight of them and they have explosives. We may not exactly be on the main road, but I’m thinking any klik now we’ll be able to hear the tanks.”

When the loud noises of heavy tanks came closer, Jazz watched Prowl to see how he handled it. To Prowl's credit, he only pressed his lips tightly. The moving tires and treads stopped, and the sounds of transformation pierced the air. Something had caught their attention.

Prowl's optics widened and Jazz cursed. "Come on," he urged as he grasped Prowl's upper arm and tugged him along.

Even with his doorwing tips exposed there was some difficulty to navigate the fallen debris in the shadowy pit. He was a spy, though, and used to the dark. His visor had a night mode, and the shadows abated. Between his doorwing tips and visor, he was able to maneuver them around without making noise. Prowl’s doorwings made slight movements, the blind Praxian trying to overcome his lack of vision with his own doorwing senses.

When he heard the sounds of jumping Decepticons landing on feeble ground, he reflexively tightened his grip on Prowl’s hand. They were calling for the Autobots to come out and fight them like warriors. From their voices he could easily tell that they were right on their tails.

The slow currents of dust-heavy air told him that if any Decepticon in the group could scent them, they were doomed no matter where they hid. Neither of them had perfumed polish, but a strong enough sense of smell would pick them up regardless.

Jazz became less worried about the hunting Decepticons as they loudly collided with the debris, and yelled out their frustrations about not being able to see anything. Prowl and Jazz were gaining ground, further separating them from their enemies. This was Jazz’s element, disappearing into the dark and shaking off threats.

He searched until he found a small crevice in the ground with boulders from the wall partially covering it, creating an opening almost too small for a standard frame. His flexible frame slipped in with little struggle, but Prowl found it more difficult. Prowl's frame ended up scratched, especially on his doorwings. He didn't utter a single noise, though.

"Get down low," Jazz ordered. He did the same, and if it weren't such a bad situation, he might have enjoyed squatting next to Prowl's curled up frame. Instead he watched Prowl to make sure he was okay, while monitoring the situation with his doorwing tips.

The Decepticons continued to search for them, but the area proved too dark for a thorough search of the bumbling task force. Someone did have a good sense of smell, based on the Decepticon’s snarky comments about “smelling cowardice”, but it apparently wasn’t good enough to use without sight guiding him. Jazz was proud of Prowl. His friend never succumbed to the fear he surely felt. Instead Prowl stayed still the entire time, sometimes glancing at Jazz. Breems after Jazz's frame began to ache from squatting, the Decepticons spat that they'd be back with lights and no hiding place would save them.

When Jazz sensed the Decepticons were completely gone, he stood up. "We need to move now. Fast."

He climbed out first, and then helped Prowl out, wincing in sympathy as Prowl's doorwings scraped the boulder again. They had to be aching.

"Will you keep using your doorwing tips?" Prowl asked.

He didn't want to, but then again they had saved them. "I will until we make contact with the Neutral."

Prowl looked off to the side. "Thank you... they are comforting."

"Good, because I meant what I said last orn." Jazz clutched Prowl's hand as he led them away, glancing back with a smile. "My wings are always here for you, even if just a small amount." He turned away to keep his attention on escaping, but Prowl's hand felt a little warmer.

They had to rock climb their way out, and it was particularly more tasking for Prowl than Jazz. The saboteur had vision and was used to climbing, but Prowl could only sense basic shapes and had no rock climbing experience. Despite his struggles, Prowl was able to maintain his grip and move fast enough.

They made it out to the other side, and immediately surveyed the area. There would be no more driving, not in this landscape. The meeting point with the Neutral was not far, but the Decepticon squad would expand their search once they confirmed the Autobots had left the canyon.

Despite being unable to drive, Jazz managed to find trails. Strangely, more and more patrols started appearing in the air and on the ground. It slowed them down, forcing them to take cover more often. After a joor of running, rock climbing, and jumping, they spotted the overhang from the Neutral’s description of the meeting spot.

"I can sense him," Jazz informed Prowl. "He's hiding under the overhang. Definitely a Praxian build." He closed his plating covering his doorwing tips.

They moved quickly across the clearing, ducking into the jut’s shadow.

"You're the Autobots?" a low voice asked them.

Prowl answered; this was why he was here. "We are."

The Praxian stepped out. He was a mix of indigo and teal. "It’s always good to see another Praxian."

"Indeed. What's your name?" Prowl asked. Jazz backed off to give them the appearance of privacy, though he didn’t leave the shelter of the overhang.

"No names. If you get caught, you can't sell me out."

"I accept those terms, and for the same reason we won’t give you ours. Tell me what you know."

"Very well." The Neutral produced a datapad and handed it to Prowl. "As a Praxian I'm sure you recall the gas Shockwave used to finish off many of the survivors in the wake of Praxus's destruction."

Even Jazz remembered that. After Praxus had been laid to waste, but before anyone could rescue survivors, a gas had been released to finish off the city. The gas had never been seen again, but the horrible deaths of the affected mechs were burned into Jazz's memory.

Prowl’s doorwings slightly quivered and he clenched his hands. "Yes, I am acutely aware of the poison. Intel suggests a key material was completely consumed in that attack."

The informant swept his arm behind him. "Not any longer. This area may look like an empty wasteland, but it has the key material. It's buried deep, but they are digging. We aren’t far from the main dig site. That datapad includes rough directions to the site, but I wanted to meet here so you can memorize it and use it, rather than go strictly by my map drawing skills."

Jazz was alarmed to learn they were near a key area. That explained the increase in patrols. That also meant satellites were a risk. Did this mech set them up? Jazz took a step closer to the pair. He wasn’t planning to interfere with Prowl’s task, but this was something he needed to know.

Prowl put his hand up to Jazz, effectively stopping him. “You do realize the risks of being here? There have been more surveillance patrols, and I’m sure there’s significantly more surveillance systems. Satellites are likely to be focused here.”

“The next pass isn’t for two more breems,” the Neutral replied. “I’m not stupid; I picked the closest meeting spot available that wouldn’t trip an alarm or surveillance.”

“How do you know about the satellite schedule?” Prowl inquired.

“Let’s just say I know the right mechs. How else do you think I’d have this data?”

Jazz’s plating was itching. They needed to go. He wasn’t about to trust their safety to a contact of a contact. If there were satellites looking over this area, they needed to go before someone deployed a response team. He knew Prowl wanted to convince the unnamed Praxian to join them, though. Jazz gently touched Prowl's upper arm. "We need to go. We're going to have to get around that Decepticon squad, and there's no time to waste."

"Of course." Prowl glanced back at Jazz and then back to the other mech. "If you ever learn more intel, please do not hesitate to contact the Autobots. I’m sure you are aware this area has air patrol, but there is at least one ground task force that is out looking for invaders. Please be careful.”

"Good luck, Autobots." The mech backed away from them, signaling an end to the conversation.

Jazz partially wrapped his fingers around Prowl's upper arm. Prowl reluctantly followed, and they moved until they were on the opposite side of the clearing, back where they were earlier.

Prowl looked past Jazz. "If it's alright by you, I found your doorwings... of great benefit, even though they weren’t fully utilized. If you might use the tips again, I would appreciate it."

Given that they faced more obstacles now than before, Prowl’s logic made sense - even if Jazz didn’t like having his doorwings exposed any more than necessary. “Sure, I can use the tips again.” He transformed his plating.

Prowl faced the way they first arrived. "The Decepticons are now in front of us."

"Yeah, but I'm hoping they're spread out. Eight spread out Decepticons will be easy pickings." When Prowl pressed his lips, Jazz hastily added, "I'll take care of them, don't worry. I know that kind of work isn't your flavor."

"I'm sorry; it's something I've never done."

Jazz tugged at Prowl's chin, gaining his attention back. "Honestly, I hope you never have to. I don't want you to have to deal with the effect that has on the mind." Prowl didn't say anything, so Jazz continued. "Ready to go?"

"I will follow you."

Jazz led them back, focusing on his doorwing tips' on any movements, frequencies, or anything that gave off a signal. Suddenly a ping alerted him. Incoming Seeker radar. "Run," he commanded. They had to find cover fast.

Prowl didn't hesitate, staying close to Jazz's heels. Jazz wasn't running as fast as he could, but doing so would leave Prowl behind. A skyward road emerged after crossing a hill and Jazz darted straight for it. It was narrow but high enough to allow them to stand and hide underneath, so long as they stayed close together.

Jazz had more concerns than sheltering their physical forms. Depending on the Seekers, their radar system would be able to detect them despite their hiding spot. "Prowl come here," he whispered as he carefully gathered Prowl in his arms.

"Why?" Prowl curiously looked at Jazz, but allowed himself to be moved into Jazz' embrace.

"If they detect us while we're this close, we'll just look like a single blip. They should be looking for multiple Autobots. If we have any luck, a single blip won't interest the Seekers." Jazz rubbed the back of Prowl's helm. "Put your helm on my shoulder. The closer we are the better."

Prowl gently laid his helm on Jazz's shoulder. The roar of the four Seekers' engines closed in on them. Jazz felt a tremor pass through Prowl's body. Even as faint as it was, Jazz worried about Prowl's welfare. Fear could tear a mech apart.

Jazz gathered Prowl a little more, pressing him in close, and nuzzled his cheek. "I'm here. You aren't alone. I'll keep you safe."

"I know you will," Prowl replied. "I trust you."

The Seekers' engines roared over them… then they continued past. Jazz didn't let Prowl go, and he waited until the sounds of engines were too faint hear before he spoke. "I know they're gone now, but they might circle back. It's best if we wait like this until nightfall. We should move when it's too dark for the grounded Decepticons to chase us."

"That's joors off."

"I know, and the Seekers will likely grow bored and call it quits by then. Until that happens, we need to look like one blip."

"But won't they investigate if one blip keeps repeatedly showing up in one spot?"

Jazz petted Prowl's helm. "I'll deal with that if it happens. They might never come back this way."

Prowl didn't respond and Jazz sensed tension in his neck. Getting Prowl to feel safe was his number two priority, with number one being don’t get caught. "Prowl, let me massage your neck."

"Why?"

"You need to relax."

"How can I relax like this?" Prowl's posture tensed.

"I promise it'll help."

"Okay."

Jazz nuzzled Prowl again in thanks, and then he started softly rubbing Prowl's neck. He kept rubbing until he felt Prowl's frame relax, melting into his. There was another tremor, but this one was accompanied by flush warmth.

He didn't want to over stimulate the mech in his arms, so he simply held him, whispering comforting words whenever the sounds of engines came within audial-shot.

Jazz's thoughts were almost completely with Prowl, save for his readiness to respond to his doorwing tips' detection of a pending threat. It wasn't just the proximity that had Jazz thinking of Prowl, but the fluttering in his spark, happy to be a guard again. This time he was guarding someone precious to him, being true to his original purpose as a protector. He was needed; he was needed by the precious mech in his arms, the one under his wings.

Caught up in the strong feelings of being with Prowl in a way that wholly validated him, he tilted his helm to Prowl's neck and kissed it. Jazz was startled by his actions, but not as startled as Prowl, given his stuttering in-vent. Following a wave of energy in his spark, Jazz kissed the same spot again, and then lifted his helm slightly so he could kiss Prowl's cheek. Prowl's venting was shaky and Jazz lifted his helm until their gazes met, optic to visor.

"Prowl," Jazz started, "You complete me." He said it carefully. "When you're on base, and I can help be your strength. When you're under my protection, whatever it is, you complete me."

Prowl's mouth dropped slight, forming a little 'O.' Jazz was about to apologize for going too far in his confession when Prowl spoke. "Jazz, you have been my strength almost as long as I've been on base. No one has ever affected my life like you have. I want to complete you in any way I can."

Jazz's visor brightened, and slowly he leaned in until his lips were grazing Prowl's. He didn't push past that, thinking about Prowl's comfort level with affection, keeping the kiss chaste. Prowl surprised him when he chased after him as Jazz pulled away, briefly deepening the kiss.

Jazz touched their forehelms together, saddened by his doorwings pinging him with another warning about incoming Seeker radar. "They are getting close to us again."

Prowl cycled his optics, the moment lost. His optics darted around, as if recalling where they were. "Yes, of course. We have other things to focus on."

Jazz pulled Prowl's helm next to his cheek. "I'll focus on it. You just focus on me."

Prowl shook his helm, the sides brushing against Jazz's cheek. "I should be planning a tactical escape plan."

"Out here is my element." Jazz lightly kissed Prowl's helm. "Let me handle the situation, if something happens."

The Seekers came close, but they peeled away before getting too close. Although he wanted to resume enjoying Prowl's company, it was not the time. Prowl seemed to understand that, as he didn't continue either. After the second sound of Seeker engines coming in a different direction, Prowl's tremor returned.

Jazz placed his hand back on Prowl's helm. His fingers petted him, and Jazz began to softly sing. Prowl had relaxed last time Jazz sang for him; perhaps he would now.

It didn't happen within the first few notes, but Prowl eventually did calm. He buried his face into the crook of Jazz's neck, his venting even. He could tell when Prowl could hear the Seekers or Decepticons because the tactician would tighten his grip on Jazz. Jazz sang closer to Prowl's audial.

Nightfall came and the sounds of yelling or sky-borne engines disappeared for several breems. As much as Jazz hated leading Prowl into territory with known enemy activity, it was their only option.

"Let's go." Jazz slowly released Prowl.

The two fled through the jagged terrain. The landscape's ominous presence was worse under a dark night, with only the distant city lights illuminating one side of the chunks of infrastructure. It casted ghostly images along their path.

They were nearly halfway back to the base, and close to a drivable back road when Jazz picked up rustling noises from up high. They were followed by laughter, closer. He stopped cold, Prowl almost colliding into him, and looked up. On the top of a tall, hollowed out building were the four Seekers, and just below them were eight grounded Decepticons. Jazz's tanks plummeted; they had been too high for him to sense air currents, and too quiet for him to sense frequencies. Decepticons - especially Seekers - were never that quiet. Until now.

"I told you there were Autobots still in this area," chuckled a Decepticon almost as dark as the night.

"The _satellite footage_ told you there were Autobots still around," a light purple-and-white Seeker sneered. "Now grab and search them," he ordered as the four targeted their arm-mounted weapons on the Autobot pair.

Jazz wanted to fight back but there was no opening. No opening _yet_. He wasn't a stranger to being caught, and neither was he a stranger to getting out of a situation. So long as they didn't take him to Shockwave. With a jolt he remembered his doorwings tips. Quickly, he transformed his plating so they didn’t show.

His concerns over his own doorwings receded marginally when there was no signs the Decepticons had seen them exposed, but he thought about his broken promise to protect Prowl. The Decepticons grabbed them and pinned their arms back, and Jazz despaired that he had failed Prowl.

The moon was high when they were brought to the main camp. The Decepticons had a cage sized for four mechs, and they were thrown in.Prowl stumbled, but managed to stay upright, while Jazz stumbled against the far wall. The door slammed closed and they were left alone in the cage, with a guard outside the door.

Prowl quickly moved to Jazz's side, softly placing his hands on the saboteur and helping him stand. Jazz wasn't injured and could have done it himself, but his mind was racing to figure out what kind of plans the Seekers had. What if they were getting them ready for Shockwave? If the satellites found them, then surely Shockwave already knew. How did the satellites find them, after all the time the Seekers spent searching for them?

"Jazz, stay with me," Prowl said quietly, putting his hands on Jazz's shoulders and pressing firmly. But Jazz wasn't focused on him; he was trapped in the memory of the first time he’d been in a cage.

_Decepticons surrounded the Sentries, some as guards, some as buyers. All the captured Sentries were in full chains and standing on pedestals for the Sentries-only auction. Some Sentries were pristine, others had clearly been used for a while. That's what happened in mech trafficking circles, or so Jazz surmised. This particular event was for bidders who had a taste for his type. So far he hadn't been put up for auction, but that was about to change. Right now was the pre-auction, when they were all forced to show off for bidders._

_Like the Pit he was going to show off!_

_One of the guards jabbed him in the leg with a rod. "Preen, you fool. You know what happens to those who don't participate."_

_He did. The lucky ones were killed to remind the rest that there were worse fates than mech trafficking. Few were lucky enough for a quick execution. Most had their doorwings ripped off first, a practice that had formed in the aftermath the attack on his frame type in the streets._

_Jazz still refused to posture like a prostitute. He glared at the mech poking at him and received another jab, this time harder. He fought the Decepticon using the one freedom he had left: his mind and will. He would not yield to the jabs, no matter how painful._

_A half joor later the Decepticon finally stopped so Jazz could be taken down. He struggled in his chains against the two mechs, who forced him to walk forward. They held him in place, in a line of Sentries. One by one, they were each pushed forward, through the curtain and onto the stage. When it was Jazz's turn they shoved him through the fabric._

_Ignoring the crowd and the spotlight, he immediately turned and tried to bolt but didn't make it out before his captors forced him back on the runway. This time they kept him in their grasp._

_Jazz hissed at the crowd. He would not be desirable._

_What he hadn’t count on were the bidders who liked a challenge. Hearty laughs filled his audials, vibrated down his doors, and several bidders shouted they loved their prizes feisty. Bidding started, and it skyrocketed._

_Someone won, but Jazz couldn’t see the mech very well through the spotlight and the guards’ jostling. He heard his shout of triumph, though. It was a deep voice, from a large frame._

_Try as he might, Jazz was unable to escape before he was tossed into a room. The door slammed shut behind him, but he banged on it anyways._

_"Pretty, pretty Sentry. Come and play," that deep voice purred from across the room._

_Jazz whirled around, seeing a large mech with deep orange and black stripes. A miner turned Decepticon. "Don't come near me," he growled._

_"What's wrong, Sentry? So used to standing off to the sides, you don't know how to handle attention? I've wanted a Sentry for so long. Those doorwings are divine to touch, to crunch."_

_Jazz balled his fists and brought them up. "I won't go down easy."_

_"You'll go down easily." He lunged for Jazz._

_Jazz blindly struck with a fist. His fist collided with a cheek strut, but it was Jazz who cried out. He hadn't punched right, and his wristed folded with the impact._

_The Decepticon forced him to the ground, but Jazz kept kicking and struggling, striking again and again despite the pain. The grip on his shoulders was putting in dents, as his attacker pinned his back against the floor. His doorwings felt like they were being crushed, but the pain only spurred Jazz on to keep attacking. The key card to the door, hanging around the mech’s neck, was batting him in the face. He kicked his opponent in a seam separating abdominal plating, and the mech jolted backwards. He let go of Jazz's shoulders._

_Jazz swung blindly, and his fists pummeled his attacker's neck, hitting the vocalizer more by accident than design. The Decepticon fell over, stunned and in shock. Yanking the key free from the Decepticon’s neck, the key snapping off the string, he scrambled to his feet. and dashed away. Slapping the key card against the reader, he bolted once the door opened, shoving past the guard on the opposite side of the door. No matter what, he wouldn't be caught again._

"Jazz!" a quiet but insistent voice interrupted the memory.

Jazz cycled his optics repeatedly, disorientated and barely aware of anything beyond his freezing, shaking hands. His coolant system was overworking, and so was his thumping fuel pump.

"Prowl?" Glancing at the lone guard, and seeing his back turned, Jazz pulled Prowl into an embrace. It was short-lived but he needed it.

Prowl rubbed Jazz's jaw line. "We're going to get out. I promise you that no harm will come to you."

Jazz almost laughed sarcastically; he made the same promise under better circumstances and failed. How could Prowl fair better? He didn't laugh of course; he wasn’t going to offend his friend, who was only trying to comfort him.

"They'll toss us to Shockwave once they're done," Jazz ex-vented as he clutched one of Prowl's hands. "I'll do what I can to keep their interest away from you."

Prowl looked at the guard, his back still to the Autobots. Prowl leaned forward and whispered into Jazz's audial horn. "I have an idea." He paused before continuing. "They don't know we're alone, but they're most likely assuming we are. Remember your echoing ability?"

This time Jazz immediately remembered his one active manipulation capability. “Sure I do.”

"When they take us to wherever they intend to interrogate us, use that so it sounds like there are mechs hiding in the dark. When the Decepticons are distracted, we strike."

"That's an interesting idea, Prowl, but you don't know how to strike." Jazz left it unsaid that if Prowl purged after battle near the frontlines, then he wouldn't stand a chance in a vicious, close quarters fight.

Jazz had a knife on him that the Decepticons had missed in their search, but he didn't have anything for a second fighter. The knife would be more effective in his hands, but what would Prowl use to defend himself if it came down to a fight? Jazz couldn’t fight twelve Decepticons and protect Prowl at the same time, and his friend had no remaining weapons. He could give Prowl the knife, and he could improvise and use a sharp piece of debris as a weapon. At worst he could punch their vocalizers hard to stun them long enough to execute a more serious attack. He knew how to do it properly now.

He really didn't want to give Prowl the knife. A junior tactician should never have to know how to kill like that. He should never know what it's like to have energon spray his face. A junior tactician should have never been on an agent's mission.The only reason Prowl was in this situation was he was one of a dwindling number of his frame type. Jazz was suddenly enraged at his superiors for forcing an untrained Autobot into the field, rather than disguising an agent as a fake Praxian. Timing was the essence, but so was training.

After a klik he suppressed his rage. Prowl didn't need to see that. Reluctantly, Jazz slipped his knife into Prowl's hand. He gave Prowl's hand a good squeeze as he wrapped white fingers around the handle.

Prowl looked down, and Jazz saw his hands shake momentarily. Prowl may have planned this, but it was different holding a weapon, facing the possibility of using it to kill. He hid the knife under his bumper. "I won't fail you."

"You can't ever fail me. If all you do is punch them so they don't get to my back, I'll be happy with that. Don't do anything you're not comfortable doing. That knife is just in case." Prowl nodded and then sat next to Jazz.

The moon had moved closer to the horizon when the purple-and-white Seeker finally came. Four more Decepticons were with him. "Move them to The Ring."

Two Decepticons flanked each Autobot, as they were marched out. “The Ring” was just that: a ring in the center of the camp, with four posts in the middle, set in a two-by-two configuration. Long chains for attaching a prisoner laid motionless in the stale air.

Jazz and Prowl were pushed up against the two nearest posts, and their hands were chained above their helms. Jazz raised his chin in defiance while Prowl stared stoically at the Seeker in front of them. The rest of the Decepticons formed a loose half-circle around them, sneering at them until the Seeker raised his fist to silence them.

"Hm, what do I have here? Two Autobot fools that wandered into my grasp. You were foolish enough to stray too far and into a satellite’s path on your return trip." Jazz let the Seeker gloat for a few kliks before he unblocked his doorwing tips and activated his echoing system. The echoing capability didn’t only echo noise, but it also modified wavelengths so an echo didn't sound the same as the speaker.

He started it off low, increasing the volume it slowly until the Seeker stopped. The echoes growled in the dark.

"Who's there?" the Seeker called out. At first, the Decepticons were all silent, waiting for a reply, so the echoes were silent. Then several of the grounded Decepticons laughed contemptuously. They stopped short when the ownerless voices returned.

One of the tanks pulled out his gun, and the rest followed suit. They yelled for their unseen foes to come out and fight like real mechs. Jazz carefully modulated the echoes so they wouldn't yell back, but would repeat garbled words and growls.

Someone fired, and all optics left the two captured Autobots to face the dark. Jazz transformed his arms; his hardened Kaon plating didn’t yield under the stress of transforming in chains. The chains had not been kept in good shape, and they broke quickly. The sounds of them snapping were covered up by the yelling and blaster fire. He grabbed a sharpened rock from the ring's outline and smashed Prowl's chains with it. A few hits shattered the chains.

"Hey, they're escaping!" a voice cried out. Jazz whirled around and attacked the closest enemy, the purple-and-white Seeker. His attention stayed on his foe until the Seeker dropped, energon dripping from a fatal wound. Decepticons were turning around one-by-one as they realized there was a threat inside the camp. Jazz kept fighting until there was no one left. The air smelled like spilled energon and dirt and rust.

He checked for more enemies but everyone nearby was dead. Counting, he found two of them were missing. Jazz looked for Prowl, and found him staring at his energon-covered hands, the knife still clutched in one of them. There was energon sprayed across his face and chevron, and all over his chest. From the position of one of the downed Seekers, Jazz could tell the Seeker had jumped on top of Prowl.

"Prowl?" He moved cautiously to not spook his shocked friend. He spread his hands, palms facing out. He gently called for Prowl's attention again.

After the third time, it worked and Prowl finally tore his gaze off the knife and looked at Jazz. The saboteur didn't touch Prowl; he moved slowly until his hand rested on the knife. Prowl didn't release the knife so he spread his fingers against Prowl's, opening them up to take the knife.

Prowl's optics followed Jazz's hand movements, and when low moonlight hit the knife's blade still in Prowl's opened hand, that was the last straw for Prowl. He shoved it into Jazz's hand as he fell to his knees. His body began to dry heave.

Jazz subspaced the soiled knife, to be cleaned later. He dropped to kneel next to his friend and wrapped one arm around Prowl's shoulders. The other he rested on the back of Prowl's helm. "It's okay, it's okay. Close your optics. It'll be okay."

He could feel Prowl fighting to not purge fuel, and felt it when he lost the battle. Jazz waited it out patiently. When Prowl shuddered and his frame wavered, Jazz pulled him into his body. Prowl purged again; it splashed against Jazz's leg, but he didn't pay it any mind. Right now his world revolved around helping Prowl get through his first time taking a life in close combat.

Fuel tank empty, Prowl started to dry heave. Jazz kept his hand on Prowl's helm and petted him, whispering words of encouragement. He told Prowl how brave he was, how dependable he was as a tactician, both things he knew Prowl would find comforting.

Prowl collapsed and curled around the arm holding his shoulders. Jazz leaned down and kissed Prowl's helm. Prowl relaxed into Jazz’s arm and for a brief klik he lifted his helm backwards after the kiss, but then he dropped it as if he had no more energy to hold his helm up.

When he felt Prowl stop heaving, he asked, "Can you walk with me? Keep your optics closed."

Jazz supported Prowl as they stood up and Jazz lead Prowl to the makeshift camp group shower, the spouts and metal flooring, now glinting amongst the shadows in the pre-dawn light. He sat Prowl down on a bench. "Look at me," he requested. He held onto Prowl's face to make sure Prowl looked him in the visor so he wouldn't see the mess on Jazz's frame.

He waited until Prowl was looking at him, with mostly-steady venting. "I'm going to clean you off. I want you to keep looking forward. Tell me how many metal seams there are in the stall behind us."

Prowl said nothing but when Jazz let go Prowl kept his gaze forward. Jazz gently washed the both of them using an abused brush he found. He was lighter on Prowl's frame than his, especially on Prowl's face and chevron. Washing the energon away revealed cuts on Prowl's frame.

"Stay here. Keep counting. Count the seams in every stall if you need to." Jazz un-subspaced the knife, but he kept it on the floor as he washed it so Prowl couldn't see it. He dried it with a black towel, and then stored it.

"How many seams, Prowl?"

"There are 54 seams in the stall across from us, 132 when you combine it with the other stall," he replied automatically.

"Good. Now how many make up the floor?" All the energon was washed away.

While Prowl counted, Jazz dried him off. He was nearly done when Prowl's hand fell onto his, plucking the towel away. His visor brightened out of concern. "Are you sure, Prowl?"

"I can dry myself."

Jazz grabbed another black towel for himself, and he dried off while watching Prowl do the same. Prowl was slower, staring at plates that were previously sprayed with energon, but Jazz said nothing, waiting to see if Prowl could work through it.

They finished drying about the same time, and Prowl handed Jazz his towel. Jazz tossed them on top of the wall, and then he pulled Prowl up by the hands. He hugged Prowl and said nothing. Jazz let Prowl bury his helm in his shoulder. Prowl didn't cry or heave again, but it did take him a breem to collect himself. When he did, he pulled his helm away and looked Jazz straight in the visor. "I'm ready to go home."

Jazz kissed Prowl in the middle of his chevron. "Me too."

 

|||||

 

Their debriefings happened separately, while a pair of Special Ops cleared medics worked on them. Prowl had been more damaged than Jazz, which made him worried. They weren't allowed to meet again for three shifts, locked in their own rooms under observation. Jazz was familiar with this part, his observers making sure he hadn't succumbed to mission pressure. At first he was impatient. He wanted to make sure Prowl was okay.

A disgruntled mech released him, pointing towards the main exit door as if Jazz didn't already know where it was. "I don't suppose I can escort Prowl out?"

"He was released three joors ago, at the request of the tactical department."

That was strange, releasing someone early. Especially a non-agent coming out of a messy mission. He wanted to find out why, and he needed to know where he and Prowl stood. Jazz was aware comforting moments on a mission didn't remain significant once back on base. He prayed that was not the case this time.

Jazz pinged Prowl's office, and was immediately granted entry. Sitting behind the desk, Prowl met Jazz’s gaze with a stoic expression. "Hello, Jazz. I see you fared well in your isolation."

Jazz stepped in and leaned against the back of the visitor's chair. "Yeah, typical stuff for agents. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you." He glanced at his screen, like he really wanted to pay attention to his current task.

Jazz frowned. Prowl was acting a little cold. There were a few explanations for that, and Jazz was not one to leave it alone. He knew he was potentially setting himself up for pain, but he had to know. However, that didn’t mean he had to leap right to the worst possibility. "What do they have you working on?"

"The next Special Ops mission. It seems my hands-on experience makes me an excellent choice to plan it."

"So you're thinking about the mission you just finished?"

Prowl flexed his fingers. "No more than what's necessary."

Jazz spotted the lie in the slight shifting of Prowl’s doorwings. He was definitely thinking of the bad parts, if not all of it. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What parts?" Was Prowl trying to play coy? It wasn’t like him, and at times he was a mech of few words, but this was different. Watching Prowl’s tiny movements with his fingers and shifting body made Jazz worry.

"All the parts that matter. Or at least all the parts that matter to you, about us." He meant the bad and the good, although he'd settle for either one. If Prowl was obsessing over the bad things, he'd comfort him; if it was the good times he wanted to talk about, he'd celebrate that Prowl still reciprocated his feelings.

"We haven't really talked about the meeting.That should be something we discuss, to make sure our debriefings were on the same page, but I’m not available right now." Again, Prowl’s body shifted just slightly in his chair.

"Is that what's important to you, about us? Because that's sure not what I'm thinking about. Not now that it's over and the data's been handed over to our superiors.” Jazz rocked on his heels, his bumper over the back of the chair. “I want to know how you feel. What I've been thinking is how I want to know your feelings about the mission. Not the meeting, but the parts where it was just you and me, like when we were waiting out the Seekers. The parts when I held you because our capture had taxed you."

"I..." Prowl trailed off and glared at his terminal. "I really should be focusing on this mission planning."

Jazz left the chair to stand by Prowl. "Prowl, look at me."

Prowl wouldn't.

Usually Jazz would give a mech space to work things out himself, but he knew Prowl would internalize everything the wrong way. He'd obsess on taking a life, he'd worry about being weak, and he'd think Jazz didn't want him anymore. Jazz could practically see the thoughts turning in circles, around and around in Prowl's helm.

Jazz knelt down on one leg. He brushed his hand along Prowl's cheek. Still Prowl wouldn't look at him. Jazz waited patiently, touching Prowl's face, until Prowl finally adjusted his position to look at him from the corner of his optic.

"Jazz..."

"Prowl."

"I'm so sorry for not holding my own weight on the mission. I failed you."

Jazz stopped rubbing Prowl's cheek; instead he let his thumb graze Prowl's his lips. "You have never failed me. I failed you. I wanted to guard you, and instead we were captured." Jazz felt like a failure as a Sentry, and as a failure as a Special Ops agent.

Prowl placed his hand over Jazz's and turned to face him better, finally looking at him full-on. "If I did not fail you, then you did not fail me. You are my guardian."

"Do you still want to spend time with me?" Jazz held his next vent.

Prowl squeezed Jazz's hand, but tilted his chin down. "I'm not strong enough for you."

Jazz nearly demanded to hear Prowl's justification of saying that, but he realized he already knew it. "I don't want someone 'strong enough' to handle what I do. I want someone strong enough to be there for me when I struggle. I don't struggle with what I do; I struggle with what I've lost. You’ve given me back something I lost, and I believe you have the strength to help me never lose sight of it again."

Prowl tilted his face back up. "What have you lost? Back there, in the Decepticons’ cage, I could sense you were very far away, like something was holding you hostage in your mind."

"I lost my purpose." Jazz couldn’t keep the bleakness out of his voice

Prowl settled his hand on Jazz's forearm. "You lost more than that, didn't you?"

Jazz didn't answer. Prowl brushed his index finger along Jazz's plating, leaning in until his chevron touched Jazz's helm. The touches grounded him; it kept him from following his demons down the well into another flashback. Prowl spoke with care. "I never want you to lose sight of what you need, but I can see more haunts you than just a sense of purposelessness. Please tell me; please let me be your strength."

Jazz's vents shuddered. Talking about what haunted him was not easy, but he could touch on the topic without digging too deep. "I saw things happen to the Kaon Winged Sentries. Horrible things. They were marched into the streets, and their doorwings were torn off before they were killed. We were captured and sold. Ironically they didn't trust us anymore because of our doorwings, but they found them pretty enough to want to do things to them."

"Oh Jazz..." Prowl rubbed his chevron against Jazz's helm.

Jazz placed his hand on Prowl's, the one resting on his forearm. "I was never really sold. They tried, but I escaped. Starblaster found me after and helped me get to the Autobots. He had a medic change my transformation sequence so I could pass for Iaconian, and that’s what he put on my record. I lost my identity that orn, but it was better than dying."

“I don’t think it’s lost.” Prowl tentatively wrapped his arms around Jazz's neck, keeping his helm on Jazz's. "Your identity is important to you, and so is it is important to me. Be my guardian, but also let me help you."

"How can you want me as a guardian?"

"Listen to me, you did not fail me," Prowl insisted. "You saved me from those Decepticons, and you keep me from becoming my own enemy. Those are qualities of a guardian - you save me from external threats as well as internal ones."

Jazz hummed softly, his response non-committal until Prowl's words sank in. "I want that, to protect you from harm and what weighs you down. But Prowl, don't try to help me with my heavy burdens; I'm not easy to deal with once you get past my smile."

"No one is an easy solution, Jazz, but I know more about what's behind your smile than anyone I've met. I'm not afraid of it. I understand that I don't know all your burdens, but I know more than you realize. I'm more than a battle strategist, even if that's what this war has reduced me down to."

Jazz's optics flickered beneath his visor. "Of course you're more than a tactician."

"That often doesn't feel true, until I'm with you. With you, I feel like I matter more than just as a name on a tactical plan. For everything I feel beyond the war since coming here, I feel because of you. I don't want what's between us to be one-sided, however; I want to bring to you everything of wonder and joy that remains - I want to be someone to help you connect your lost past to the promise of your future."

Jazz smiled softly. With a tender kiss, he whispered, "You more than just brought me everything; you already _are_ everything to me."


End file.
